


The Ikea Trip

by chevrolangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Didn't Know They Were Dating, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Squabbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22510108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevrolangels/pseuds/chevrolangels
Summary: Original prompt: This has probably been done so many times. But Cas and Dean being super domestic and coupley, but not realizing it and wondering why everyone assumes they are together.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 530





	The Ikea Trip

**Author's Note:**

> [Link](https://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/113439125174/another-prompt-this-has-probably-been-done-so) to original ask!

The bunker doesn’t have enough plates. That’s the only reason they’re doing this. 

It’s been a slow week. No hunts, no demons or angels wreaking havoc—and the general air of listlessness in the bunker had Dean itching. Men of Letters they may have been, but they didn’t have jack squat in way of culinary supplies. And they can’t exactly get shit _delivered_ to their super secret Batcave.

So that’s how Dean finds himself standing in the dinnerware section of Ikea, squabbling with Cas over the color of some crappy pieces of porcelain.

“No way, dude. No. Just— _no_.”

Cas, for some reason, is dead set on these ugly-as-fuck green ones, which Dean will absolutely not tolerate in his kitchen. 

He narrows his eyes at Dean, crossing his arms.

"They’re completely satisfactory,” he growls. “You said we just needed _more_ , I don’t understand why the color is important—”

"It just _is_ , Cas, Jesus.”

Then Cas starts doing that _thing._ The thing where his eyes get all round and big and Dean can actually _feel_ himself wilting, under that stupid, fucking—

"Blue,” Dean grits out, a last ditch effort. 

“Green,” Cas shoots back.

” _God_ —FINE.”

Dean grabs the appropriate box, making no effort to hide his scowl.

“We’ll get the damn green.”

And Cas, the bastard—he full on smirks. Dean huffs, turning his back on the fallen angel, stomping up to the cash register. He drops the box none-too-gently on the counter, childishly hoping he breaks a couple. 

"Apartment shopping?”

Dean looks up.

“What?” He asks bluntly.

The woman behind the register chuckles.

“New stuff for the new place?” She offers helpfully, beaming. 

Dean bites back his real answer, gritting his teeth.

“Something like that,” he mumbles, digging out his wallet.

“Well, don’t you worry.”

She pulls out a bag and starts to pack up their plates, an obnoxiously happy grin on her face.

“We see a lot of these spats. But they never last long.” She lets out a tinkling laugh. “Something about interior decorating must bring out the grump in people!”

Dean raises an eyebrow. Someone had a little too much caffeine this morning.

“Um,” he says shortly. “Yeah.”

“You’ll make up soon,” she singsongs, giving him a wink.

Dean turns bright red.

He grabs the stupid plates and runs out of the store as fast as he can, Cas confusedly hurrying after him.

xxx

“We should get one to go.”

“What?”

“To go.” Cas sticks his hands in the pockets of his borrowed jeans, his expression frank. “They have the best pie in the country. It says right here,” he says, indicating the window.

Dean’s expression spasms for a second, like he’s considering bursting Cas’s bubble and explaining exactly why one sign in the window of a random diner in a random city didn’t mean they _actually_ had the best pie in the country—

Eventually, he just sighs, shoving another twenty into Cas’s hand.

“Okay. Me n’ Sammy’ll wait in the car.”

He heads towards the exit, and Sam follows him, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘whipped’.

Castiel steps up to the register, eager to succeed at this small human task. He drops the receipt on the counter and the woman there takes it, smirking slightly. 

He points at the display case.

“And an apple pie. To go. Please.”

“You got it.”

She starts to ring him up, full-on smiling now.

“Soooo.”

She starts to box up the pie. “How’d you meet?”

Castiel squints.

“Pardon?”

She glances pointedly at the window, and Castiel turns, to see Dean squabbling with Sam through the window of the Impala.

“I’m a sucker for meet-cute stories,” she says, winking. Castiel frowns.

_How we met?_

“Well.”

He thinks it over for a minute.

“We met when I raised him from Hell. But I suppose he doesn’t remember that.”

The woman’s smile falters slightly, but Castiel doesn’t notice.

“So then I guess the first time we truly met was in a barn. In Illinois. He stabbed me,” he adds helpfully, misinterpreting her expression.

_~15 minutes later~_

“Dude, where the hell is Cas?”

Dean pushes the door open, glancing around the diner. Cas is still at the register, _still_ talking to the lady, whose mouth is currently hanging open.

“Then I betrayed him, because I was working with a demon—trying to do the right thing, obviously—but I’m not really sure he ever forgave me—”

Oh fuck.

Dean makes a beeline for him, grabbing his elbow. Cas continues, oblivious.

” _Then_ I lost my memory—”

“Cas,” Dean hisses through his teeth. “What the _hell?_ " 

Castiel gestures towards the lady, who is now backing away, a plastic smile locked on her face.

"This nice woman asked about our relationship, and I merely—”

“We’re going,” Dean snaps. “Now.”

xxx

It’s few weeks after the diner incident, and they’re at a bar, enjoying a few well-earned beers after a successful hunt. As they wait for the bartender, Cas sighs, loosening his tie. Dean laughs.

“That bad, huh?”

Cas gives him a look. “I think I pulled something,” he says, grimacing as he stretches his shoulder. “That crocotta was deceptively fast.”

“Yeah, most of these bastards are.”

Cas huffs, deciding to shuck off the coat entirely. 

In the back of his mind, Dean is dimly aware of several ladies turning around to look—but he’s too stunned himself to make any sort of coherent sentence. Hell, Cas is practically naked now without that coat, rubbing his shoulder and muttering grumpily under his breath. And the girl on the barstool next to him is eyeing Cas in a way Dean particularly doesn’t like. So as soon as the bartender hands them their beers, Dean shoos Cas back to the table, offering to pay.

"Damn,” he hears her say, watching as Cas walks carefully back to Sam, beers in hand. “I’d like to get on that.”

Dean rankles, unable to stop himself.

“Well, keep walking lady,” he snaps. “He’s not interested.”

She turns, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why? You his boyfriend or something?”

Dean flusters, nearly dropping his wallet.

“Wh—what? No. _No_.”

And almost immediately, her face goes from irritated to pitying.

"Oh, honey,” she says, shaking her head.

Dean wordlessly snatches his change from the bartender and stomps back to the table, fuming.

xxx

Sam lowers his beer, raising an eyebrow.

"You okay?" 

Dean is damn thankful Cas has disappeared to the bathroom or whatever, because he can’t keep back the question, the stupid question of—

"Dude, why do people keep thinking me and Cas are together?”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

“What?" 

"Three times now!” Dean blurts. “Seriously. What the hell?”

Sam gets a sneaky look on his face. “Why, Dean? Does it _bother_ you?”

“It’s just, it’s—it’s not like that, Sammy.”

“It’s not like what?”

Dean freezes. Crap.

“I’m under the impression that you’re talking about me,” Cas says from behind him, sounding almost angry.

“Dammit, Cas, make some noise or something,” Dean mumbles lamely.

"Dean,” Cas warns.

Dean grits his teeth, making a (probably) really stupid decision.

“Aw, hell,” he mutters, turning around. “Screw it. We’re getting this sorted out now.”

"Bout damn time,” Sam says under his breath.

“Shut up Sam,” they both say, not breaking eye contact.

Castiel is staring at him, completely unforgiving.

“If you have something to say, Dean, please say it. You’ve been acting strangely for some time now, and I find it unpleasant to deal with.”

At any other time, Dean would roll his eyes at Cas’s complete lack of sugarcoating, but he’s focusing all his energy on not bolting out of this bar, away from Cas and this friggin’ conversation.

“So. What’s the deal?” 

Dean spreads his hands, trying to sound nonchalant and failing completely.

"Why does everyone think we’re a couple?”

Cas blinks, the briefest flicker of shock crossing his face.

“A couple,” he repeats. “As in those in a romantic relationship?”

“ _Yes_ , ‘as in those in a romantic relationship’,” Dean parrots back at him. “Seriously. Why?”

Cas merely raises an eyebrow.

“We spend a great deal of time together.”

“Yeah. So?”

Cas crosses his arms. “You pay for my food.”

“’Cause you’re a dumbass angel without a bank account,” Dean shoots back.

“You’re my best friend,” Cas says quietly.

Dean gapes at him, unable to look away. He doesn’t even care that they’re doing this in the middle of a crowded bar, in front of his fucking brother, for god’s sake, he’s never gonna hear the end of this—but is Cas—did Cas feel the same—?

"I can understand why they were mistaken,” Castiel says quietly. “I am too fond of you.”

Dean makes a sort of strangled noise in his throat that he will later deny to his dying day—but Cas is way too close right now, and Dean’s heart is pounding in his chest. He can barely speak.

“What do you mean, Cas?” He breathes. “What do you mean, you’re fond of me?” 

Cas doesn’t move.

“I think you know, Dean,” he whispers.

Dean swallows, his voice shaking.

“Spell it out for me, would ya?”

And, Cas, thorough as ever, grabs his shirt and demonstrates to Dean just _exactly_ what he means.

"Jesus—guys, _really_?”

“SHUT UP, SAM.”


End file.
